


Rhythm of your heart

by A_Splattering_Of_Paint



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Personas, Coffee family, Feelings Are Confusing, M/M, Mona is an actual cat, Questionable Life Decisions, Terrible Ex Boyfriends, Unrealistic depictions of gacha pull luck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13420506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Splattering_Of_Paint/pseuds/A_Splattering_Of_Paint
Summary: The first step to a clean breakup is not to make out with your ex boyfriend.Unfortunately, Akira has a lot of trouble with step one.





	1. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm pumped up on medicine and Mariana's Trenchs new single and I really felt like my fav person in the world could use this, so here you go <3

It’s all the rain’s fault, honestly.

Because when Goro - tired and grown up and in his Thursday suit - comes in through the door, it’s not _this_ Goro Akira actually sees. Not the one he’s fallen out with, not the one who packs moving boxes to relieve his stress. Akira doesn’t see their fights, not the silence, not the eventual surrender. Not the awkwardness, and not the stiff politeness they have settled for, as they wait to get out of this flat. Out of this terrible, never-ending bubble.

No, when Goro comes home through that door, Akira sees him younger, lankier, more awkward, faster to smile an honest smile. His hair drips into his eyes, as it had back then, and Akira shivers because the single gust of wind that had brought Goro inside had carried the taste of a storm, and that, too, takes Akira back.

To an afternoon, the smell of a stronger storm pressing into the house, fresh and volatile and full of energy that begged to be unleashed. It had electrified him, too. Left him energised, in a strange limbo between giddy and restless.

The trains had stopped working, and Goro had been stranded nearby, desperate enough to ask for his aid.

They’d been awkward enough, Akira head over heels already, tripping over himself bringing Goro towels and dry clothes - _his clothes -_ all the while promising to make coffee, to make curry. Everything for his crush, cramped into the tiny bathroom of his dorm as the shower ran and Akira mentally held a pointer finger up at himself with a firm ‘No’.

His thoughts would _not_ wander. He wasn’t creepy.

The factor he hadn’t considered had been what the sight of Goro in his damn track jacket would do to him. Akira made it through the evening alright, but in the end, their kisses tasted like coffee when Akira grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled Goro on.

It wasn’t even that the jacket looked _that_ good on him, no -  it was a possessive spark kindling every desire he’d so desperately tried to quell. It was a storm begging to be unleashed, and the tips of Goro’s hair curling up slightly as it dried.

The moment Akira had realised that Akechi Goro straightened his hair every morning because he found it a more neat image to present, somehow he realised he couldn’t _not_ kiss him.

That was how he lost his virginity on his ratty dorm sofa that had seen too many generations before him.

Goro - Akechi, back then - had responded with too many teeth, nicking Akira’s bottom lip, hands fisting in his shirt with enough force to make the collar dig into one half of Akira’s neck, the other side baring his collarbone and half his shoulder. It hadn’t been more than figuring out how to put their tongues into each other’s mouths and a mutual handjob, barely taking the time to undress enough to get to the good bits.

They’d panted into each other’s mouths, shivering, breathless. Came all over each other, the clothes, and the damn sofa.

It had been a catastrophe, and Akira would never, ever forget the soft look on Goro’s face, flushed and blissed out. Vulnerable, as he searched Akira’s face, until Akira leaned in and placed a very, very gentle on his lips.

It was a special memory with all its imperfections, all the awkwardness, all the fumbling and confusion.

It hurts more than Akira can put into words, as he watches this Goro, withdrawn and becoming a stranger with every day more.

“It smells good,” Goro says, carefully. Keeping his voice free of expectation without managing quite to.

Akira doesn’t move from his place sprawled across the armchair, careful not to lift his eyes from his book, careful not to look for signs of Goro’s hair curling. “Sorry. I already ate. But you had microwavable dinner in the fridge, right?”

Here’s the thing: when Akira is on his own, alone, he _wants_ to hurt Goro. Not deeply. It isn’t hurt, per se. He wants to … make it sting.

They said every hurtful thing already, and apologised. They’re handling this like adults.

But Goro doesn’t deserve his curry anymore. So he made curry, knowing full well the flat would smell like it, and ate it all on his own.

Akira, alone, always thinks he _wants_ to see Goro deflate. Then it happens, in real life, and it’s so unsatisfying that it turns back around and stings Akira himself.

He’s too soft-hearted.

“I see,” Goro replies, and Akira closes his book with a soft thud.

“I can warm it up for you, if you want. Spice it up a little.” He doesn’t meet Goro’s eye. They are simply two very polite strangers. It _is_ polite, to offer anyone after a long, hard day of work. And it was a hard day at work. Akira can tell by the tension in Goro’s shoulder, because he’s done so for the past years, and he wonders if he’ll ever truly forget all the things that are useless now.

“That’s alright,” Goro assures him, all with that pleasant smile that every stranger, every _acquaintance_ even gets. They’re not even acquaintances anymore?!

“Suit yourself,” Akira replies, sharper than intended.

None of this matters anymore.

Nothing at all.

He looks up, and Goro’s hair is drying, curling up as it used to, as it did back then.

Akira grabs his tie and yanks, making him stumble a single step closer. Goro’s surprised grunt is worth it as their lips crush together - with finesse, this time, but urgency, at least, to spice it up.

Akira is not sure what he’s doing. But his hands are. His mouth is.

Goro’s hands come up flat against his shoulder, and Akira braces himself to be shoved away, but then he’s gripped painfully. A soft noise escapes him, choked off as he’s spun around, slammed into the slim patch of wall between the coatrack and their door.

He gasps, and Goro all but shoves his tongue into his mouth, hard and angry, _overwhelming,_ and finally, shamelessly, Akira moans, because Goro likes it - it’s like praise, assuring him it’s good, it feels _good -_

Goro’s knee presses between his legs, arms still pinning him. And Akira goes pliant, just lets Goro’s anger wash over him, tastes it. It’s dizzying, familiar and yet different enough to completely throw him off balance.

The longer they kiss, the more noises Goro swallows from his lips, the more familiar it becomes, though - his taste. Goro’s sharp exhale when Akira presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth, hard, just as he likes it. The way his fingers wander, as always, first to Akira’s heart, soaking in its rapid rhythm, before they slide down, beneath his shirt.

Akira’s muscles jump as if they’d never forgotten to anticipate this.

Their kiss slows, as if they’re both settling, incredulously, into familiarity. And a different kind of hunger overcomes Akira. He pushes back against Goro’s loosening grip, regaining his footing, wrapping his arms around his neck. It’s this searing heat that he wants - warmth to chase away the cold that had settled in his bones, in both of them -

It feels so right, like this, Goro so pliant, so thoughtlessly soft and warm and happy in his arms. Akira wants to drag him into the bedroom and reclaim the mattress, let rational thought and maturity go down in glorious flames as they devour each other.

But Goro makes a small noise, a noise of ‘not good’, a noise that means ‘I just realised you never stocked up on candles and matches as you said, and now there’s a blackout, and we’re sitting in the dark’. Funnily, Goro _had_ been pretty mad back then, but the lack of sight had made the night very interesting indeed …

This time, though, there’s a storm in Goro’s eyes as he pulls away. Not the good kind. It’s a flurry of thought building up, and Akira knows Goro’s rational mind will tear every second of this to pieces, swiftly.

It only hurts a little. “Huh,” Akira offers, helpful. When he licks his lips, all he tastes is Goro.

Smarter than him, Goro wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Flushed, and glistening …

This … really had been a bad idea, huh? In retrospect.

“That is _not -_ “ Goro is a little breathless, which is lovely, but he’s also a lot murderous, which is less so. “What were you - do you even - _now,_ of all times?! It’s been a whole month!”

“That - that’s your issue with it?”

Wrong thing to say. Goro shuts down completely, rage flaring. “No! My issue is that you don’t know anything about _boundaries!_ I thought we agreed on this!”

“I - I mean - yeah, I guess -”

“No! _No!”_ Goro’s voice almost breaks on hysteria. “Don’t. Don’t. I refuse to hear whatever half-assed excuse you’d come up with for _this._ ”

“You kissed me back,” Akira snaps, because it had been a dick move, but Goro could have shoved him away instead of literally slamming him against the wall and pinning him there.

“It was - _habit!_ I wasn’t thinking! It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t lost your _damn mind!”_ Goro runs a hand through his hair. His lovely, rain-dryed hair.

Akira’s a little bit fucked, isn’t he?

Maybe he’s been all along. All throughout this mature adult talk of breaking up, moving flats, seeing where life would bring them apart from each other. It’s better, for the both of them.

Mona always liked Akira better anyways.

Bla, bla, bla. All the reasons why this, they, are over.

_Now, of all times? It’s been a whole month,_ he thinks, because deep down, he’s a masochist.

“ _Go_.”

“What?” Akira asks, incredulous.

“You had the flat all day! I’m tired and I’ve had a terrible day at work only to come home and get ambushed like this! I can’t stand going outside and being seen by a single kid more who asks for a selfie and forces me to _smile!”_

Goro’s fists are clenched, because else his hands would be shaking. His brows are pinched, because he’s so close to his breaking point, even an outsider could realise he’s upset. The old urge to shield him in this state is anchored so deeply inside Akira, he can’t resist it. And, the strangest of all things, he looks utterly lost standing there.

Akira reaches for his coat, his shoes, feeling numb. “Don’t forget to feed Mona, yeah?”

Goro doesn’t look at him any longer. He turned away, arms crossed in front of his chest. “I won’t,” he says, cold. But just before Akira, teeth gritted and heart pounding with hurt drags the door closed, he hears Goro say: “He wouldn’t let me.”

It’s that soft addition that … eases the sting, at least a little.

Akira exhales, runs a hand through his hair, and looks at the dingy little hallway leading to the life they'd built together, and chose to leave behind. He takes the steps down very slowly.

There's still a storm outside, and Akira has no idea where to go.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it really Akeshu if it's not physically hurting me while I write it?
> 
> Ideally this'll be a 5+1 thing.  
> Practically I probs won't have the stamina. 3+1. It'll live up to its explicit nature yet.
> 
> I. Should probably lie down and sleep.


	2. Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumpled suits, cat hair, and communication issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This_Is_Not_What_I_Wanted.png

Akira startles awake to an intent pair of eyes watching him.

He blinks, rubs his eyes. Nope. Definitely one Akechi Goro, star detective extraordinaire, crouched across him and staring at him as if Akira was a wall pinned with evidence. He’s still in his rumpled suit, from that damn event he attended.

Knowing he has been perceived as awake, Akira remains still nonetheless, and the both of them look at each other in the dark. Hazy dreams are still clearing at the edges of his conscious, and he’s not sure what to make of this. Not at all.

It’s Goro who breaks the silence, voice explosive in the oppressive silence. Akira, instantly, recognises he must be at least tipsy. “Why the sofa?”

“Mh?” That’s not the question Akira expected.

“Why did you surrender the bed?” Goro asks, failing to hide an underlying urgency from his voice. “You fight me for every stupid thing. Why not the bed? Why did you take the sofa?”

“Have you been wondering about that all this time?” Akira asks, gunning for an actual answer because Goro is definitely drunk. What a ridiculous lightweight. How much did he have, a glass of champagne and a sip of wine? Because that’s usually all it takes.

He’s never careless like this. Akira can feel guilt gnaw at him - for pushing Goro enough to do this. And for using that vulnerable state to his advantage. But it’s not like he’s terrible enough to use it against him, like _some_ people. And it’s not like it’s easy to get the _truth_ from good old Mr. Detective here otherwise.

Akira, at least, meets him with truth of his own volition. “I don’t want to lie in bed without you. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Goro blinks, for a second, looking almost stunned.

It’s satisfying as always to catch him off guard.

And then he says the furthest thing from what Akira expected: “Then go lie on the bed right now.”

On a list of bad ideas, this one’s the winner. That’s kinda worse than yanking Goro in at his tie and smooching him. Bed is a death zone. It can lead to all kinds of intimate situations, and there’s a high chance Goro will wake up and chop off his dick when he doesn’t remember why Akira is lying next to him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I think it’s a bloody brilliant idea. Get up.” Goro shoves forwards, grabs his arm, and unceremoniously begins to yank without much effect, aside from jerking Akira’s arm around.

Akira just stares at him for a second, before he even pulls his arm back. Not that Goro lets go, but he stops yanking, at least.

“I’m never letting you near champagne again,” Akira sighs, resigned. Then realises it won’t matter soon. Huh. Sucks.

“Akira!” Oh, Goro’s looped all the way to whiny. He usually only does that when he’s sick, or already hungover. “Get up! Don’t you trust me at all?”

It’s not _fair._ Drunk people shouldn’t be allowed to pose questions that require a 15 page essay with sources to answer. “Goro.” He realises it’s futile.”Okay, c’mon.” He’ll just bring him to bed. Tuck him in. Bring him a glass water because Goro wasn’t a total ass, and maybe make him take something against the impending headache. Depending on how nice he plays. “Did you eat anything?” he finds himself asking.

It’s habit, really.

“So many snacks.” Goro pulls a face. “I still hate caviar.”

“Why did you eat it?”

“It looked so pretty … but it tastes so bad.”

Caviar. Pretty. Akira sighs and leads him into the bedroom, by the arm Goro has yet to let go. “Alright, out of your clothes.”

“ _You_ take your clothes off,” Goro replies, entirely petulant, and not seeming to be joking at all. Well, that’s …

“I’m already in pajamas,” Akira explains, as calmly as possible.

“I know. It bothers me.”

O-kay. “How about you lie down first. I’ll grab you some water, and then we’ll see about my pajamas.” Thank god he has some experience dealing with this kind of mood. Though usually he would’ve just stripped for Goro and let him at it until he was satisfied and dozed off against Akira’s chest.

Drunk Goro liked two things: promising Akira he’d get him off at any cost, and falling asleep every single time _before_ Akira could come. Every. Single. Time.

But while his boner had been disappointed, well, the boner in his heart had been anything but. Akira remembers lying awake, not giving a damn over being achingly hard, just being content running his fingers through Goro’s hair as he made soft noises in his sleep and drooled all over the hickeys he’d left on his chest.

And then, at some point, they’d slept on opposite sides of the bed with barely a good night muttered at each other.

Well. Tired in the middle of the night isn’t the moment to ponder this. “Just go ahead into the bedroom.” And Akira ducks out of the situation before it can overwhelm him, tapping barefoot into the kitchen, his only safe space here.

He finds Mona curled up into a neat little circle of fluff in the sink. “Buddy,” he mutters, smiling as he’s greeted with a soft ‘prrr’ and an indignant squint of blue, blue eyes. “Not where you should be.”

Not that Mona ever cares.

He indulges in lifting the sleepy, warm cat into his arms and presses his cheek against his warm fur. Closes his eyes, and exhales.

Akira’s heart is beating uncomfortably, and the fatigue is muddling his senses more. “Mona,” he breathes. “What am I doing?”

The clock above ticks, softly, second by second by second.

Akira stands there until his heartbeat slows, Mona pressing two paws on his chest without pushing or struggling. He’s a good kid, he lets Akira cuddle it out.

“I’m never gonna let him have you,” he promises, kissing Mona between his pointy little ears. “Never.”

That’s when Mona twists out of his arms. He hops onto the kitchen floor and stretches his hind legs before he takes two steps, plops down on the floor with his tail curling around his paws with dignity, and begins licking his chest.

“Good, clean buddy.” God, Akira is so drowsy. He takes a glass and fills it up with water, letting the soft noises soothe his ragged mood. It’ll be okay. Just bring this into the bedroom, and be done with it.

He even adds a pain killer, but guess what.

His stupid ex is sprawled across the _sofa,_ suit and all, not even showing the grace to at least get in any way ready for sleep.

“What are you doing?” Akira asks sharply.

Goro’s smile should require a gun license. “Getting comfortable.” That damn honeysweet voice. Akira has, over the years, only grown more easily riled up by it. He fucking _loathes_ it.

“You have a whole fucking bed to yourself! This is the one thing I asked for!”

“I didn’t get the one thing I asked for. So have fun.” Goro pulls Akira’s duvet over himself, and Akira watches in an offense so complete, he feels removed from his own existence. This isn’t happening, is it?

He smacks the glass down on the table, shoves the painkiller into his pocket, and moves to grab the duvet and pull. He halts last second, because that’s obviously childish, and vows instead to hide all the pain killers in the house and bang a lot of doors and cabinets tomorrow.

Maybe he could blast some metal, too. He’d make tomorrow _hell_ for Goro.

“Fine, then. You think I won’t sleep on the floor?” Because he will before he’ll curl up in a bed that smells like him. He’s not that kind of masochist. “You know, sometimes I wonder why I ever even fell out of love with you. But then you pull things like these and it’s easy to remember.”

The fact that he’s drunk means that Goro is slow to hide the hurt flashing across his features.

Akira doesn’t know what he feels, not at all. He’s just tired. “Just … get up and let me get back to sleep.”

But if there is one thing Goro believes in, in this regard, it’s law of equivalent exchange. So when he sits up, Akira knows not to trust the peace, and braces himself for a snide remark that’ll cut right where it hurts.

Instead, Goro reaches out faster than a drunk person should be able to and yanks him closer. Akira’s shins knock into the sofa’s edge, and he gasps when he feels Goro’s lips press against his crotch. “Wha -”

Oh, god. The way Goro mouths at his dick through the fabric of his pajamas is _obscene._

“That’s not - that’s not a good ide- _ah._ ” His hands yearn to reach up and curl in Goro’s hair, smooth it from his face, tilt his head as he pleases. His dick thinks this is the most brilliant idea Goro has ever had.

Brain. He needs his brain. “You’re drunk. _Goro._ You’re drunk as hell and you’ll regret this in the morning.”

That gets him to pull away, and Akira allows himself a small sigh of confused relief. Panting slightly, Goro takes a gulp of a breath. “Wrong.” His eyes look feverish, and it’s definitely not just the alcohol. “I’m already regretting it.” His voice is guttural, that gross fake sweetness gone. He’s intense. “Let me blow you.”

“No.” For the sake of them both. What the hell.

“So you get to just kiss me but I don’t get to suck your dick?” Goro asks, voice a growl.

“That’s - those are completely different things!”

“Oh, as if you ever had a problem with it before. You’re obviously still attracted to me.” Well, he’s not wrong. Akira can’t believe drunk Goro is going full debate student on him here, now. “You had a desire to kiss me, so even if you don’t love me anymore, obviously you’re in the mood to have your way with me physically. So here I am, offering willingly. What’s the problem, then? Is it only exciting when I’m unwilling?” His eyes are dagger-sharp, and Akira knows that Goro is aware of the way Akira’s gut twists.

The insinuation is gross and makes him feel really, really shitty. There’s his payback. “You have a terrible character, you know?”

“Oh, you’re making me blush.” Goro is too angry to really pull off the mock flirtiness. “Do you hate it when I touch you, too, now?”

Another of those questions. Akira frowns. “It’s complicated.”

And Goro’s mouth is back on his dick. Oh, boy.

“It really is a terrible idea,” Akira tries weakly, even as his hips jerk, pressing into the touch. Maybe how stupid and terrible it is makes it feel even more exciting. Or maybe it’s all that feverish energy, because even through the layers Goro knows no mercy and doesn’t hold back, and Akira can’t help the low moan escaping him.

All he wants right now is for Goro to yank down his pants and take whatever he wants from him. As long as he keeps quiet as he does so.

Akira is only a man, so he reaches up, winds his fingers through Goro’s soft hair, and urges him on with breathy moans and careful tugging. Rather careful - for their standard. It doesn’t feel at all like it used to, but it’s exhilarating enough to take his breath away. “Goro -” he breathes, voice softer than he means for it to be. Maybe he’s a little more careful in all regards, sensing the impending, utter fallout beyond this haze.

They already fought over that damn kiss -

What’ll it be after -

“Goro?” he asks, distracted, when Goro makes a weird coughing noise and pulls back. Oh. “You alright?”

“Mona,” Goro spits, mouth awkwardly open, tongue stuck out. He reaches up and - oh. _Oh._

Akira grins and looks down at his sweatpants. “Right, he was in my lap.”

Goro abruptly turns away and tries to extract all the cat hair from his mouth, while Akira sinks to the floor half-hard and dissolves into wheezing laughter. It figures. It fucking figures! Honestly? Serves Goro right.

After several frustrated snorts, Akira shows mercy and offers the glass of water, which Goro snatches with a yank from him, downing the last of everything. “God damn that cat,” he growls to himself, and turns to glare at Akira, who stops muffling his laughter, and proudly laughs into Goro’s face, earning his sniding: “God damn _you._ ”

“I love karma,” Akira wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “You should’ve seen your face. True beauty.”

Goro kicks his shoulder, but it’s not vicious. They’re both … careful.

To some extent, at least.

Placing the empty glass on the table, Goro drops his head in his hands and sighs, sounding more tired than annoyed now. “Can I still blow you? I mean, I already got you hard, didn’t I?”

Akira leans his cheek against the sofa’s armrest from where he sits on the ground, watching Goro hunched over where he sits, so close and yet the distance between them seems … unbreachable. “Why?” he asks, honest, at least as long as his rational mind is working.

Goro laughs, without an ounce of humour. “Can’t sleep anymore. Figured it might help. I can’t very well let you touch me, but I can suck your dick.”

“Is that why you’re tipsy?” To find some sleep? Is the bed too big for him alone as well? Is he so weighed down by his thoughts? Is it just work stress or does he -

“No, it’s because of the intense peer pressure,” Goro snaps back, and shoves off the sofa and onto the ground, toppling Akira onto his back.

Going down, Akira hits his elbow right where it hurts most, hissing through the pain and yet finding it hard to feel it at all when Goro’s intense face is so close above him.

Instinctively, heart stumbling, Akira parts his lips for a kiss. Which is a mistake, because Goro swiftly denies him and moves down, yanking his pants away at last. Before Akira can react, he is bared and Goro mouths along his length, lips and breath hot.

Akira knocks his head back against the floor as his hips jerks up, his body betraying him. A whimper escapes him, and it only urges Goro on.

If Akira had any ounce of self control he’d stop this. He’d just let the stubborn asshole sleep here tonight and barter for the sofa right again tomorrow, sober and rested.

But he can use some release, and it feels good, and Goro wants this, he’d be mad if Akira pulled away -

“Goro,” he says, sudden clarity cutting through his pleasant haze even as Goro’s fingers curl around his base, even as he licks a filthy stripe up his length and makes Akira shudder. It’s _good,_ but not enough to -  “What do you mean, you can’t let me touch you?”

He doesn’t know why he even expected a reply. Well, a reply other than Goro’s fingers sliding away, spreading on his thighs to pin him down and spread his legs better, as he swallows Akira down to his base.

Gasping, Akira feels his hand shoot down, fisting in Goro’s hair, clinging to anything.

He’s so hot, so shameless, and Akira hasn’t had any action in so long, but _fuck -_

“Please -” he begins, whimpering again as Goro chokes and pulls away, his lips the perfect amount of pressure as he slides them up. He’s brilliant at this, and Akira wishes he could just close his eyes, forget the world, and indulge.

But he -

This seed of unease mingles with his pleasure, and it makes everything feel so -

“Goro,” he breathes again, moaning helplessly, because Goro knows all his weaknesses, and he only pins him down harder. He moans around Akira now, every time he slides his lips back down, flicks his tongue. Gasps and sighs as if this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, because Akira gets off on _this -_ Goro’s pleasure making everything, everything better.

 _Is it real?_ he wonders, dejected. _Is this how you feel or am I just another person you put on a show for now?_

He should reach down and stop him. For his own sanity, at least. But it’s easier to surrender. It’s easier to close his eyes and try and concentrate on nothing but Goro’s mouth working him, the filthy noises he’s making, the grip of his fingers anchoring Akira if only he tries hard enough to let it.

It’ll be over soon anyways, he can feel that much. Akira is too ridiculously pent up, and Goro sets a brutal pace as if to get this over with sooner, get to the good part, the bliss after. But even as he feels his orgasm mount, Akira knows instinctively that he -

“Goro, ah, _Goro -_ “

The asshole doesn’t pull off. He works Akira through it, swallowing every drop. Were it not for his flushed cheeks and his glistening lips, he’d look completely unruffled as he sits up.

Akira keeps lying where he is, legs spread and tangled in his pants, open and vulnerable. With the high wearing off already, that vague gnawing pit of doubt and unease settles with force and becomes a full-blown mounting crisis. “Goro,” he tries again, but it feels like he’s talking to a wall.

Goro wipes his lips with the back of his hand, staring glassy-eyed ahead. He doesn’t seem to register Akira talking to him.

“Are you okay?” Akira asks, uncertain whether it’s meant for Goro, or himself.

  
  


Slowly, he sits up, and awkwardly wriggles back into his pants. His elbow is throbbing with a dull ache.

What little tension his orgasm soothed is overshadowed by every unsettling sentence Goro tossed at him without explanation, all of it tangling together into something so ugly and terrifying, Akira is not sure how he’s supposed to hold it together.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he freezes when he notices Goro’s gaze on him.

For a second, Akira sees himself in that expression: lost, confused, uncertain of the rules they play by any longer. Then Goro’s eyes shutter close with enough force to leave his expression entirely hollow, before it twists into a sneer. “I’m done here. I think I’ll retire.”

Akira is too tired for this kind of whiplash. “I wanna sleep, too.”

And he wants to know why Goro can’t - can’t let him touch him at all. Did Akira do something? Something he’s not aware of? Is that why - ? But why, then, would Goro feel so obviously comfortable between his legs? “Hey. If I ask you something, would you -” he begins, though he knows it’s futile. And then watches Goro climb onto the sofa.

It is a gesture so childish, so petty, so utterly unnecessary right now that it flares to life all the hurt Akira hadn’t even known he felt in the wake of whatever just happened.

He shoves to his feet, swaying. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” Goro replies, curt, as if that’s all answer enough. And no, no, _no._

He doesn’t get to make Akira feel dirty and doubtful with a couple of drunk words and a quick, dirty blowjob on the living room floor and then just take Akira’s one damn space. They’d agreed on this, it’s one of the rules they didn’t break -

“Get up. I sleep here. In fact I already _slept here._ Before you fucking startled me awake with your libido.”

“As if you ever minded,” Goro replies, easy. As if they’re still who they used to be, as if it’s that simple.

Akira tests whether he is steady on his feet. He rolls his shoulder. “Get up.”

“Nope.” Goro pops the ‘p’. Like a goddamn five year old.

So Akira replies in equal immaturity, grabs Goro, and lifts him off the sofa, blanket and all. The indignant screech he gets back alone is worth it. “There, you fucker,” he grunts, heaving him up so he has a better grip, and starts walking with a flourish.

“Let me go!” Goro shouts, struggling harder. His voice escalates in a way that drains Akira’s manic glee, but there’s no way for Akira to put him down like that so he just keeps holding on, opening his mouth to ask him to stop fucking struggling -

But Goro twists and kicks hard enough to unbalance, and drops to the floor in a heap. It’d be funny, if not for the tiny, pained noise he makes and the complete and utter silence after.

Akira sinks to his knees instantly, mind a static of worry. What was he thinking? What is he doing? What are _they_ doing?

Goro curls up around his wrist. It’s his right hand, but that’s not much of a relief. His face is screwed up with pain and Akira’s heart beats so hard he feels his pulse in his ears, and not much else. “I’m getting you ice.”

He practically flees into the kitchen, hands shaking. Mona is nowhere to be seen. Akira finds an ice pack and wraps it in a dish towel and carries it back.

Goro has pushed himself up, got rid of the blanket, and sits curled around his aching wrist. He doesn’t look at Akira, but accepts the ice pack and presses it to his skin.

“Does it hurt badly?” Akira asks, because he’ll go mad if he stays quiet. He feels like they’ve both gone mad.

Goro doesn’t answer, which is worse. Akira wants to call him out on it, that silence, the disrespect of letting all of Akira’s concerns bounce off him so easily. But then he realises that  there are tears dripping down Goro’s cheeks.

He doesn’t tremble, doesn’t make a single sound. But his tears keep dripping, one after another. It’s a sight so unbearable to Akira, he does something worse than kisses or blowjobs. He shoves forward and wraps his arms around Goro.

Goro remains stiff and unmoving, like a statue. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move to push Akira away.

After several moments, with sudden, explosive force, he exhales and melts into it. Presses back against Akira, hard, seeking comfort so desperately. The ice pack is pressed against Akira’s stomach, and he doesn’t care, just tries to be mindful of Goro’s hurt wrist. “Do you need me to take you to the ER?” he asks. “Because I will. I’m sorry. I didn’t -”

Goro presses his face into Akira’s shoulder, and it makes him fall quiet. Carefully, he places both hands on Goro’s back.

He’s warm. Akira is pretty sure he lost weight, under the rumpled suit layers he’s still wearing.

“You used to love me,” Goro whispers, warbled, against his shoulder.

Akira doesn’t know what to reply to that. What do you reply to that? “I did.” He halts, falters. Presses on. “So did you.”

“I did,” Goro echoes, and sniffles hard. “Why did it have to end this way?”

“I don’t know,” Akira breathes, because it’s the only truth he has. This close, he can feel the tremors running through Goro’s body, the tension. But he still can’t say when exactly they went wrong, what tipped them over.

His eyes are burning, but Goro is shaken apart, so his instinct is to hold it together.

“I just want it to stop hurting,” Goro whispers, so quiet it seems he wishes to go unheard. “I just want it to end.”

Akira’s heart aches so badly, he squeezes Goro tighter, simply because the person who makes him feel this way is also the only thing he can hold onto, right now.

“So let’s stop,” he says, because it’s the smart thing to say. It’s what they really, truly should do. No more … of this. Crossing lines back into territory they chose to leave behind for finding it a wasteland, these days.

Goro sniffles again, louder. Akira should get him a tissue, but he’d rather not let go. Akira tells himself it’s because Goro would fall apart if he let go, but knows it’s him who needs the comfort.

“I don’t know if I want to lose you completely,” Goro admits, and it’s so honest, so heartfelt, that irrationally Akira forgives him for all the bullshit he pulled earlier. Well, almost.

“We can stay friends.” He leans his cheek against Goro’s, eyes closed. It’s soothing to be close without all the tension, all the anger, all the pent up sexual frustration.

“Has that ever worked out?” Goro asks, chuckling ruefully.

“It’d probably have to involve less kissing and blowjobs,” Akira admits, and feels a small bout of honest, simple joy when Goro gives a choked, ugly snort in return.

“Yeah.” He falls quiet, and Akira doesn’t interrupt the loaded silence Goro burrows into. It’s the type of silence before he says something important, something risky. “I’m - sorry. For all - that. I don’t want to sleep alone in that bed.”

“We can borrow a futon.”

Goro exhales, tension bleeding from his body. “Okay.”

Akira finds himself doing the same, the breath releasing tension that has been in him for too long. “Okay.”

They sit like that for a long while after.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I had writing a terrible sex scene on my to-do list. 
> 
> In all honesty for the first half of this I kept getting up and pacing up and down my room panicking mildly because I need them to be happy and it seemed like they really wouldn't be with each other but ... the last scene was softer than I expected. So I hope I can find what they need as I keep going.
> 
> My heart hurts a lot. I JUST WANTED TO SPICE UP HEATED MAKEOUTS. Now we're in no makeout territory and everyone is hurt. I'm the worst porn writer in the world. It was _supposed_ to be 'This Means War' Mariana's Trench not 'By Now' Mariana's Trench. 
> 
> A little tempted to write this scene from Goro's POV, because he threw me for a loop constantly. Writing is so wild, I swear. You expect one thing and the characters show you a middle finger and do their thing.


	3. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh coffee, new rules, and apple bunnies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all your kind words! <3 It's getting me so fired up to keep writing and see where this journey leads!

And so, he wakes to sheets smelling like his ex, sun stabbing into his eyes, regretting approximately everything.

Goro is curled up on the sofa, out in the living room, under a duvet smelling like Akira – and in retrospect Akira wonders if his good intentions weren't just secret punishment for both of them. But Goro's tears apparently had made him _that_ kind of masochist, and so he'd insisted not to let Goro sleep another night alone in the bed.

It’s been weeks since he last woke up here, and he forgot how much he hated the one hole in the blinds that always, always lets sunlight pour into his face.

Disgusting.

Akira used to just roll over, bury his face against Goro’s neck, and keep sleeping. But, alas.

This is probably the last time he’ll ever wake up here, ever squint at the sun, and Akira doesn’t know what to feel about that. Strangely, it makes him wonder … when was the last time Goro and him woke up here, together, whole and in love and cuddling up on a lazy Saturday?

He can’t remember.

It’s a thought depressing enough to get him sitting up, rubbing at his eyes, and swinging his feet to the cold ground. Hissing, he wishes to curl up somewhere where he’s not _constantly_ confronted with all that’s burned down to ashes now. What a life that would be.

Well. Not much longer anyways. He closes his eyes, drops his head into his hands. The mattress beside him dips with light weight, and Akira drags Mona into his lap, who surrenders to his fate and turns around himself twice before settling in. Folding himself around his cat, Akira tries not to think of last night, and fails spectacularly.

The warmth of Goro’s cheek against his, their whispered words. Their breaths, after so long, perfectly in sync. And the promise to stay connected, even when they won’t be the same. It’s a notion so hopeful, Akira doesn’t dare hold onto it.

He should be prepared for reality – which will probably be Goro, smiling pleasantly, pretending nothing ever happened and going back to complete silence, shutting him out. Or worse, he’ll have forgotten everything - all but the fact that Akira hurt him.

It was an accident, but the result, in the end, had been an injury.

Akira had carried Goro countless times, over and over, with some mishaps and heads banging into doorframes, but nothing they hadn't laughed off. Not back when Goro had trusted him enough to hold still rather than struggle with everything he had.

“Oh, Mona,” Akira mutters. At the sound of his name, Mona rises and presses his flank against Akira’s face, who inhales some cat hair and welcomes it, because suffocating of cat cuddles is a fate more pleasant than remembering that Akira still doesn’t know why Goro can’t let him touch him.

And now he’ll walk out there, and things will probably be worse.

Better rip it off like a bandaid. Get it over with fast.

“C’mon, buddy.” He makes to rise, earning a scandalised glance from Mona that last for two heartbeats before his cat actually hops back to the floor. Then he heads right out without looking back at him, tail lashing.

“I’m sorry!” Akira calls after him, and when he falls quiet, it hits him - the smell of coffee.

It’s always been a hopeful smell for him. The smell of home. Will a coffee greet him, perhaps … ?

Maybe Goro finally snapped and is gonna try to poison him. Hopefully the last coffee of his life will be good. Akira has to admit, he really taught him well, but would Goro use all his skills on a lethal cup?

Before he can muse more about potential murder ploys, Akira forces himself to peek into the living room - startling when he sees Goro at the table, a plethora of magazines open around him, a small notepad next to it. There is not a hair out of place on him, his smile is fresh and pleasant, and his energy is, frankly, disgusting.

“Since when have you been up?” Akira asks, distraught. It’s 11 a.m. and he’s still tired from last night’s escapades.

Goro had significantly less sleep, and Akira knows for a fact that he’s hiding the dark circles under concealer. “Oh, for a little. I figured it was time for some research. Do you want a coffee? Come join me.”

His wrist is bandaged, and Akira wonders whether he should’ve forced Goro to go to a doctor after all. “Is your wrist okay?” Akira squints. “Shouldn’t you be icing that?”

“Ah, it’s fine.”

Akira wordlessly turns to the kitchen, where Mona is acting as if he hasn’t eaten in a week even though his bowl is half-full from food Goro obviously has given him earlier.“Don’t try to lie to your dad,” Akira says gravely as he pours himself a coffee and snatches another ice pack for the damn stubborn idiot out in the living room.

He drops it on the table when he’s back, accepts that he’s a zombie who will dine with someone who looks ready for a candid photoshoot, and settles with his favourite mug. Extra big, for that extra caffeine he so desperately needs. “You seem … lively. What are you working on?”

Pleased, Akira notes that Goro reluctantly takes up the ice pack and places it against his wrist. Then Goro looks up, noticing him noticing, and Akira very quickly drops his gaze to the magazines, curious what had Goro’s attention all morning.

They look suspiciously like all the slander magazines that Goro always gets annoyed at for their articles about him, and indeed, that’s exactly what they are.

Brows rising, Akira realises every article opened is some kind of variation of tips on how to stay friends after a breakup. That … Goro is _committed._

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” Goro says, as if thinking entails all this … detective work. “And I figured some pointers would be helpful.”

Some pointers. Akira is a little speechless. He looks up, meeting Goro’s gaze, really meeting it. And what he finds is honesty. There’s no wall there - if anything, he looks a bit vulnerable. He’s putting himself on the spot, with all this. He has been doing this all morning, not knowing how Akira might react to it.

And Akira knows him. Knows how much that had cost him. But Goro went ahead and did it anyways, and Akira finds his smile comes easily to him. “Ever the honour student.”

Before Goro’s face can shift, before his defenses will snap shut, Akira reaches out and turns one of the magazines towards himself, scanning it. There’s a horoscope next to it and Akira is tempted to mess around and read it to Goro, who hates astrology, but - not the time. “What have you come up with while I got my beauty sleep?”

Goro’s small smile is worth it all. “Well, most of these, uhm, articles … agree on certain points. I have simply jotted down the most commonly advised ones. Shall I fill you in?”

A briefing on how to properly break up. If it means less of that goddamn terrible heartbreak, if it means he’ll never have to see Goro’s tears again, then fuck yeah Akira is on board. “Go ahead.”

Goro nods, pulling his notepad just an inch closer, fingers trailing along one corner. He licks his lips, nods a little to himself - as he does before a speech. “First of all, it is agreed upon that a clean break is necessary. I think that much is common sense.”

Akira nods to that, and decides it’s time for a big dose of caffeine – wheezing when it completely scalds his tongue. It’s … freshly brewn. “Wait - did you try to wake me up with the smell of coffee?”

Goro looks up from his notes, brows furrowed, the slightest pout to his lips. It’s a little adorable. “Please focus. Would I ever do such a thing?”

“... yeah.”

“There’s your answer. Now, I think the next bullet point is very important for our … situation.”

Akira doesn’t like the small pause there. “Okay. Hit me.”

“Spending time apart, without any contact.”

Oh. Hm, that makes sense. Akira’s gaze wanders along their shared flat, crammed to the ceiling with their accumulated history. Knicknacks from travels, pictures and shared household appliances, broken shit they never threw away, the wide bookshelf where all their books are mingling pressed against each other. “That’s a little tough. But not for much longer, I guess? So that means, after we move out … no contact?”

Goro nods, though at least, he looks a little reluctant, too. “Zero. To … let our hearts heal, so to speak? And find our own persons.” His fingers flit along an open magazine page, a highlighted section. Damn honour student, really. “So our feelings may … cool off.”

Akira _knows_ they’re both thinking of that blowjob, and it makes them feel more like a team, at least. Same mistakes, same fuck-ups, same attempts to fix it somehow. “Okay. It sounds … sensible.”

“You hate sensible, I know, but -”

“No, it’s good. I … want to do this right. So, what else?”

“Well …” Goro licks his lips. “Once we feel like we’ve moved on, we can start up contact again. As friends. But only if we truly moved on.” His gaze snaps up, pinning Akira. “When there are no more feelings and no more urges that could complicate our friendship.”

“Totally platonic feelings only,” Akira agrees, a little dizzy at the thought of how long it will take to get the need to touch Goro out of his system. Without the hate and frustration that kept him away from Goro until now it will be … tough.

Being at peace with Goro and not loving him sounds … a little impossible.

“Yes. Precisely. Further, we must be careful how to meet up afterwards … perhaps in groups, and in spaces that are not loaded for us emotionally. Once more, I think that much is common sense.”

Akira nods, because, duh. He’s not gonna take Goro out on a candlelight dinner on that potential … someday … friend date. Not date. Platonic hangout of dreams.

“Furthermore, we must avoid falling back into old patterns, and I think that much is crucial. No more flirting. No more - touch.”

Of course. Akira finds himself nodding, because that’s what wrecked them so far - stupid, impulsive decisions. He doesn’t linger on the way Goro’s soft voice wrapped around the word ‘touch’ like a promise. Nope, not relevant. Akira clears his throat. “We should have … stuck to that already. We broke too many rules. So … is that our game plan?”

Goro nods curtly. “Though, before we can begin spending time apart, we must navigate our move and our remaining time together. Thus, I would suggest we establish new rules which we both agree on, to make it smooth sailing and make certain our breakup will actually be a clean cut.”

It’s all so simple when it’s laid out like that, in facts and figures, on a neat list with numbered bullets to it. Akira sees why Goro found comfort in that.

“I agree, but you’ve been awake longer than I have, and this caffeine is not even halfway into my body. So, I’ll leave the first suggestions to you. I bet you came up with a bunch.”

Goro’s smile at that is actually pleased. “Of course I did.” He flips to another page on his notepad, his pen clicking. “Firstly, as the most important rule, no touching.”

Akira opens his mouth to argue that no touching at all is way too much, but Goro knows his thought process and levels a withering glare on him until Akira slowly closes his mouth. Goro relaxes at least a little at that. “What reason would we have to touch each other? A clean cut, Akira.”

“Friends touch,” he says, pouting. Akira doesn’t know why that fact bothers him so much.

“We are not friends yet,” Goro replies, voice like a scalpel, slicing deep without effort. “I am not speaking of - say, emergencies in which one must patch up another. But other than that, there is simply no need for us to. It’s not as if we touched before - well, all the … couple things.”

“The kisses. And the sex,” Akira deadpans, because they aren’t in fifth grade anymore.

Goro fights to keep his voice serene, so it was worth it. “Precisely. So, do you agree?”

What choice does he have? Goro is right. Akira can’t argue against cold, hard logic with sheer defiance alone. At least not if he wants this to be a productive session. “I do. First rule, no touching. Only emergency touching.”

Goro rips out a fresh paper and writes down the first rule. Akira taps his fingers against the mug, watching him. “So, if I needed to give you an emergency blowjob -”

“No.” The word is definite enough to end that joke in its tracks. Ffs. Akira was only trying to lighten the mood.“So,” Goro says with a bright smile, looking up again and completely ignoring any jab in that direction. “Next, I think we should be careful not to fling around hurtful statements.”

Like, for example, someone not being able to let someone else touch them anymore? … oh. There’s why that rule bothered him, huh? “I agree,” Akira says, trying not to think of it too hard. This is a good step, and all of the confused and hurt feelings won’t matter anymore in a little bit anyways. A clean cut, some time apart, and a fresh start. Simple.

“Good.” Goro jots that one down, too.

Feeling a bit overrun, Akira decides it’s his time to offer some input. “But are we allowed to be nice to each other? Just … sharing dinner. And stuff. Like flatmates? Totally casual flatmates. Flatmates who’ve never seen each other naked.”

Goro levels a gaze so judgemental on him it’s a work of art, but then he sighs and relents. “Yes, I guess so. Working together would only further good relations, would it not?”

Exhaling in relief, Akira nods. “Absolutely.”

And the rule is established.

“Oh, and does that mean I am allowed to worry about your eating habits?”

Goro’s gaze snaps up, too fast, and he decidedly says: “Absolutely not.”

Gotcha. Akira raises a single brow, a skill he had practiced in front of the mirror specifically to annoy people. “You say we’re not friends yet, but we can at least try, right? And friends worry about each other. So don’t weasel your way out of this one. Did you even have anything for breakfast?”

Bull’s eye. He’d know the guilty Goro look of cutting-his-gaze-to-the-side with a scoff anywhere. He’s spent _years_ honing in on it. “I got a coffee while I was out,” Goro says defensively.

Akira narrows his eyes. “Were you at that soulless place?”

“It’s called Starbucks, Akira.” Click-click-click goes the pen in Goro's hand.

“I told you a million times, if you want your coffee sweet so badly, we could get ingredients and -”

“No!” Goro keeps his thumb on his ballpen with force, stabbing the exposed tip next to the list three times in rapid staccato. “ _No falling back into old patterns,_ remember? Sometimes I don’t want your masterful coffee with input and opinions and pinpointing the specific mountain that blew volcano ash to harvest it! Sometimes I just want Starbucks on the go! Accept it. Let it go.” His voice has gotten away from him, sharp and brittle.

Akira backs off immediately, both hands raised in surrender. “Okay. Okay.” What else is he supposed to say? He feels - “I’ll - let it go.”

Goro nods, finger sliding away from the poor pen, and his gaze falls on the blotches of ink he left on the paper. Akira can tell even before Goro frowns that he’ll get a fresh sheet and copy the list over so it won’t be blemished by their first … disagreement, in this fresh truce.

And that’s what he does, his attention elsewhere, giving Akira time to inhale carefully and fix whatever expression showed on his face.

Coffee ... wasn’t the point anyways. Akira leaves him to his writing. “I’ll be right back,” he says, calmly, so Goro won’t misunderstand it as a gesture of anger.

Rubbing his neck, Akira temporarily retreats into the kitchen, trying to sort through his thoughts. He can’t deny he’s been - vehement about this in the past. He’d just never realised the playfighting had actually affected Goro so much. It was just … his thing. Being a coffee snob.

As a peace offering, he grabs an apple, rinses it, and cuts it into slices. And in another bout of inspiration, he uses a skill he neglected to ever present to Goro before - carving them into tiny bunny shapes. Maybe it’ll make him smile.

Forcing him to eat anything much else won’t do, Akira knows Goro can’t eat when he’s stressed out, and they’ve both been for ages. But it’s a start, and better than just coffee.

Finishing the last set of ears, Akira tries to decipher his own feelings for a second. He relaxes his shoulders, but not even a deep sigh eases the tight knot of unease in his chest.

_C’mon,_ he scolds himself. _This is the right thing to do. You really want to be the one standing in the way of salvaging this?_

He’s just gonna have to toughen up a little. It’ll stop hurting as soon as they stop hurting each other for sure.

So he puts the knife into the sink, and carries the plate to Goro, who looks restless and twirls the pen between his fingers as if it’s a magician’s coin. His eyes widen when he sees the plate of tiny bunny apples, his slack surprise making him look younger, softer.

Akira wants more of this. He thinks of Goro in a heap on the ground again, curled around his wrist, eyes open in shock. That tiny, pained noise.

The tiny noise he makes now is his _this is so adorable but I have to pretend I’m a stonecold detective_ noise. It makes Akira smile. “There. Peace offering for judging your coffee tastes.”

Goro carefully works a glove off his fingers and takes one up. “It’s fine,” he says, distractedly, poking the tip of a bunny ear. There it is, his smile. His gaze cuts up to Akira, smile not wavering. It's a critical hit. “I know it’s a sore spot. You were raised to be a connoisseur, after all.”

Akira snorts, his smile actually wide. It feels peaceful, to … apologise, and be benevolent with each other. Not to fight over every tiny thing, and make it a hill to die on. If this is what it’ll look like, when all is said and done … then Akira can pull this through no problem. “Yeah, it’s all in my upbringing. Blame Sojiro.”

Goro nibbles on the first slice, at least. “I will tell him the next time I - oh.”

Right. They both realise at once, that for obvious reasons Goro fears that Sojiro might not want him around anymore. Not after he broke Akira’s heart - and vice versa, to be honest.

But it’d be petty. It _hits_ Akira, all over again - Goro has friends, yes, but there’s no family to fall back on for him.

Akira is - was - his family. Sojiro, too. The closest Goro has ever come to a proper father figure, over the years, even though Goro would never admit it aloud. But Akira has eyes, and he’s always seen how much it means to Goro to quietly chat with Sojiro from time to time.

“If you never came by again, I’m pretty sure Sojiro would disown you,” he says, as casually as possible.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Goro asks, trying for a light joke, but Akira hears the uncertainty, the question. That’s what Goro is asking him - if Akira would be okay with it. He looks so young, so small, and so lost sitting on that chair, nibbling on his apple slice. Scared to be hated after all is said and done.

But Sojiro isn’t that shallow, and it’s not like - Goro carries all the blame. He initiated this, the actual breakup, but if he grits his teeth and reflects on it right now, Akira _knows_ the mistakes are on both their sides. He didn’t agree for nothing.

And haven’t they just decided not to treat it as battle ground anymore, but to move forward together, as best as they can?

“No, we wouldn’t,” Akira says, final. It’ll be awkward for a while, but all his friends hang with Sojiro, too. And they _will_ stay friends.

He pretends he doesn’t notice the tension draining from Goro’s shoulders, who pretends very hard that there was never any tension to begin with. “Very well,” he says awkwardly, so desperate in his search for words that he eats a whole apple slice to avoid talking.

Akira masks a laugh as a cough and looks away, deciding not to let the sudden tension settle.

So he does what he does best, gearing up to crack a terrible joke. “The rules and us being a team aside, I think we have even more reason to celebrate.”

Immediately distrustful, but still chewing and thus unable to protest, Goro furrows his brows.

Akira grins so wide it aches, and says, glee in every syllable: “This was the first time ever you’ve actually gotten me off while drunk.”

Goro makes a strange choking noise, swallowing hard before he coughs daintily into his fist. “You - !” he wheezes, completely disgruntled all while trying to appear collected. Dishevelled Goro has always been his favourite.

Akira laughs, deciding it's better to poke fun at last night than to treat it like a catastrophe. “Hey, come on. That’s worth something. A milestone. As a couple, we went out with a bang, so to speak.”

Goro groans so hard at the pun it sounds severely unhealthy, and Akira grins all the wider.

“C’mon, Goro. Highfive. To our new friendship.”

Goro eyes his hand with polite disdain. “I refuse.”

“Like old times,” Akira adds innocently.

Goro is too offended to smell the trap. “I have literally never highfived you for any of the stupid puns you’ve made,” he shoots back.

Victorious, Akira jabs the notepad. “Exactly. We agreed _not_ to fall back into old patterns, right?”

If looks could kill, Akira would be a dead man right now. He holds his hand higher, chortling with glee when he actually gets the limpest most unenthusiastic high five in the history of mankind. He can get _used_ to this.

“You’re terrible,” Goro mutters, shaking his head. The words are tinged with fondness that Akira hasn’t heard them wrapped in for so, so long.

He wants hold onto this feeling, no matter the cost.

Watching Goro chomp down on the rest of the apple slices with vigour, Akira decides they will be okay, and for the first time, that doesn’t feel like an empty lie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all that I could ever be / If all that I could ever be / Was the best ex-lover of your life
> 
> Peace is restored! Akira seems to have no problem to have open and honest talks without being completely open and honest about his feelings. I'm sure that won't blow up in his face later on. Now taking bets when the no touch rule will burn up in flames.
> 
>  (I cannot believe how many 'how to stay friends after a breakup' articles I read for this fic.)


	4. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cleaning emergencies, gacha pulls, and heavyhearted nostalgia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does real life ever kick your ass so hard? BUT IM THE TOUGHER MOFO BETWEEN US.   
> It’s good to be back! Hello! A moment of silence for the old tags which were a hardcore spoiler and not really summing up what this fic is slowly becoming.   
> We reached the halfway point! Holy shit! 
> 
> Big shoutout to Ara for suggesting Mona, texting, and alcohol and making the finishing line livelier and 1k longer. 
> 
> Please enjoy!! <3

At first the packing seems endless.

Small shelves take up hours and keep sending trinkets like fairylights to lead him down the slippery slope of memory lane. For someone with Akira’s attention span, it is hell.

But as the days pass, the flat grows emptier yet, and the boxes keep piling up in their separate corners. 

Akira feels really rather tired, and Mona takes a piss on the sofa in protest. 

“This is where your dad sleeps,” Akira hisses, elbow-deep in cleaner and surrounded by scented sprays to salvage some of this. “You should’ve taken the bed -”

“Charming,” rings Goro’s voice behind him. 

Whoops. 

“You always told me I had to be stricter with him,” Akira says, glimpsing behind himself and frowning, because Goro looks like a dishevelled supermodel still. There should be a rule that he doesn’t get to, at home, at least not if Akira spent his free day draped into an armchair reading terrible sales bin romance novels to hate on the concept of love while whispering at Mona that he’s the only one for Akira. 

But, hey. Goro and Akira are trying, and some pettiness has to be expected in any good friendship.

“At least Mona has his priorities straight, I see,” Goro says with a serene smile and heads down the hall. 

Akira squints at Mona, curled up on an empty shelf, who blinks at him feigning innocence. Hs tail twitches, though. As if threatening future fabric. He’s been very unhappy these past weeks.

“Don’t think I’ll forget this. Don’t think you’ll get any fatty tuna anytime soon.”

Goro materialises again, brandishing his tv smile still. “I’ll buy him some later.” 

“You’re tearing this family apa - ” Akira cuts himself off with a fake cough of Ann-level cringeworthiness. Oh, damn. He’d gotten to feeling way too familiar, running his mouth without thought - 

“Very smooth,” Goro says coldly, but he tosses a pair of rubber gloves onto the couch. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“You haven’t even seen what I’m -” Akira shuts up when Goro slides onto the floor next to him, his knee almost touching Akira’s. 

“I’ve seen your supplies,” Goro shoots back, wrinkling his nose. “Oh, that reeks.”

Is he planning on helping Akira? Oh. “Y-yeah, still wanna get him fatty tuna? Maybe you’re next!” Akira snatches up the rubber gloves while Goro taps his phone rapidly, humming to himself. 

They are … really almost touching. Akira gulps.

Somehow he has to think about that unremarkable patch of grass in front of his childhood home. Akira could not have cared less for it as a kid, he never looked at it twice.Then a sign had proclaimed it was off limits. And from the second on, he had been obsessed with getting his feet on it and seeing how far he could go and get away with. Simply being told not to engage had turned a patch of grass into a den of temptation.

Akira figures that's kind of what's happening right now. He didn't even think of touching Goro so far, they'd naturally gravitated away from each other since the fallout. But now that the rule hangs in the air between them, his thoughts are obsessing about every tiny opportunity.

And this is a  _ big  _ one. 

He could shift a little and press their knees together.

He could brush the little slip visible of Goro’s wrist where his dress shirt had ridden up. 

He could lean his temple against Goro’s shoulder because he’s so tired and he -

Akira shoves to his feet because  _ rules are good  _ and he’s  _ not  _ going to wreck the fragile peace. God, he’s really going to need a distraction. 

“What do we need to do it ‘properly’?” he says in the most doubting way possible, satisfied with Goro’s answering frown for being difficult.

“Fresh rags, and go get some vinegar. Baking soda. Water. Detergent, too -”

“Jeez. That’s a lot.”

“I mean, it’s your sofa -”

“I’m on it, I’m on it.”

And so they spend the most peaceful and friendly afternoon in ages cleaning cat piss together as Mona watches on. 

 

\---

 

By the time Goro leaves with the sofa freshly reeking, but at least not of cat piss, Akira is going insane looking around at the empty shelves, and his heart hurts. So he decides to fuck the packing tonight, puts a first box under his arm, and takes the subway to the home he’ll always be able to return to. 

It’s a good thing he picked a light box full of unbreakable things, because Futaba knocks over a barstool when he enters and comes rushing towards him, squeezing him tightly. She’s gotten  _ strong  _ for someone who occasionally lives off all-nighters fuelled by instant ramen and soft drinks. 

“Oof.”

It smells like curry, too. Perfect timing. 

“I don’t know if I made enough to feed a third mouth,” Sojiro greets from where he’s stirring the pot. Akira closes his arms around Futaba and feels a laugh slip from him. 

“You always say that and yet I’ve never gone hungry.” Akira squeezes Futaba again. He hadn’t been sure whether she’d be here, but he’s glad. “Hey, little pest.”

“Hey, dumb big brother.” She smacks his ribs and he messes up her hair. 

It’s good to be home.

Futaba chatters at him the whole way up the stairs so it feels less like Akira is temporarily moving back into his teenage room ‘cause he sorta messed up his life so far, and more like he’s … dropping by for a sleepover, maybe. Plain family time. 

“Maybe I should bring back the surveillance cameras,” Futaba muses, sneezing like a kitten when she moves a dusty old box aside to make room for Akira’s junk. He’s not sure if it was a kitchen box or a belongings box he grabbed, his labelling system is anarchy and that’s precisely why he knew this box was his: no fucking clue what had gone in there.

Goro pretty much lists every item and groups them in order of importance of when he’ll need to unpack them. Like, what the hell.

“Go head at your own risk,” he threatens, and Futaba looks like she bit into a lemon. 

“Ewww! You’re terrible!”

“ _ You  _ started it.”

Akira pats down the box and steps away and looks around at this room. It’s still the same, just littered in dust and more junk again, and the familiarity and the unfamiliarity at once overwhelm him. He feels like bolting and running and shoving all his shit back into his shelves at  _ home,  _ the home he’s built, the -

“Akira.” Futaba kicks his shin. The look in her eyes is knowing, but they’ve been through every crisis together, so she doesn’t thrust pity or comfort on him. No, they’re the same type in that regard. “Bet you five nights of Mona rights that I’ll wipe the floor with you in Street Fighter.” 

“You should really know your place by now,” Akira shoots back, cocky despite knowing that he’s rusty and the battle will be tough. Though, wait - “Oh, shit.” He unzips his bag and a ruffled, disgruntled, and absolutely pouting Mona pops his head out. “Sorry, buddy.”

“You’re a terrible cat dad, Akira,” Futaba says, shaking her head. Mona seems to agree because he ignores either of them, turns on his heel, and disappears down the stairs with his tail high, no doubt ready to rub around Sojiro’s legs until he’s getting food. 

“Good thing I don’t have to fight for custody.” Yeah, not his favourite topic. “So, if I win, what do I get? Do I finally get to meet your secret lover?”

Futaba opens and closes her mouth like the most offended fish, blustering. “For the last time - ! It’s not like - ! And it’s none of your business!”

Akira dramatically drapes himself across her. “But you’re my wee baby sister and what good am I as your older brother if I don’t make sure -”

Futaba physically fights him, trying to mash his face away from her while growling.“You’re  _ plenty good -  _ if you just - don’t stick - your  _ nose  _ everywhere - !” Then she starts kicking him, too, and Akira surrenders.

“My nose is plenty good at that, though,” he tells her, fluttering his lashes innocently, and gets another kick to the shin for his trouble.

“Shut up! Get the console running before I Street Fight you right here, you fiend!”

Akira clutches his chest as if wounded. “I am a  _ hero - _ ”

With a frustrated grunt, Futaba nonchalantly climbs over him and gets the console running herself. 

It’s a bloodbath, of course. Every victory Akira snatches from her wrath is instantly repaid tenfold, and he loses Mona for ten nights of overnight trips and for some reason needs to buy Futaba in-game money to pull a jpeg of a wife in a pretty outfit. Akira lets Futaba show him, and at least it’s a very pretty picture, so the transaction is done even before Sojiro calls them down for food. 

“Sounded like you two were fighting a war up there,” Sojiro mutters, shaking his head as he heaps steaming curry onto their plates. 

“It was worse than that,” Akira informs him gravely. 

Futaba climbs onto her own stool with a supervillain laugh. “I totally kicked his ass! Now I just need my lucky charm to max up my gacha luck and I’ll get my dream card~” 

“Am I not your lucky charm?” Akira asks her, distracted when a fresh plate of curry lands before him. Oh, that’s so good. He doesn’t care what Goro thinks, Akira could eat curry every day of his - 

Oh.

“Nu-uh!” Futaba puts out her tongue. “You can’t even remember the  _ name  _ of Featherman Red’s alter ego wife.”

“I know the wife, but an  _ alter ego _ wife?”

“See! But Clarice is cool, she takes over Green in times of despair, saves everyone's asses, she should totally be team leader, and her wedding gown version is a  _ must have,  _ so thank you for kindly sponsoring it!” Futaba presses her hands together and bows her head with great exaggeration.

“Eat your curry,” Akira says in disdain, not bought like that. He's no longer considered a lucky charm, and since that spot was stolen by a mystery person, he doesn’t even have someone to be properly jealous of. Does his sister think she will so easily be forgiven for that?

“Kids these days,” Sojiro mutters under his breath, in the voice of a broken man who will never understand the need to spend money on pretty jpegs. “Both of you dig in and spare me.”

So that’s what they do, with a minimum of kicking under the table that they stop at Sojiro’s stern, weary gaze. Just when Akira leans back, full and sated and ready to spend the whole night with the two of them, Futaba catches sight of the clock and jumps up with a little screech. “It’s so late! Gotta go! Curry was great! Love you, you big dummies!”

“Hey,” Sojiro says, chiding, but Akira knows he’s charmed by the ‘love you’. 

“Where the hell are you going at a time like this?” Akira calls after her. Futaba changed a lot, but usually she prefers  _ staying in.  _

“Times they are a-changing, big bro!” Futaba waves wildly, then spins around herself as she puts on a fluffy jacket, making it look a little like a magical girl transformation. Sojiro doesn’t even get to finish his parental reminder for her to take care on her way and not hesitate to pepperspray anyone who looks even a little fishy to her.

So that leaves the two of them. 

“Times really do change, huh,” Akira says. He’s a little jealous and a little sad he doesn’t get to spend the evening with her, but pride outweighs it. How much progress she made. 

“Yeah. She’s growing up so fast. Jeez.” Sojiro pushes himself up and gets a rag to wipe the counter, back turned to Akira. For a long while, they are quiet together, both following their own thoughts in companionable silence. 

Eventually, Akira is unsurprised to find his own landing back on Goro. 

He’s a little surprised it is the same for Sojiro, though. 

“So you still going through with that whole breakup thing?” he asks, overly casual, pretending to be completely usurped by the slow task of polishing the counter. Akira appreciates that, putting his chin in his palm. His chest seizes painfully. “It’s getting kinda real. You chickening out on me moving back up here for a bit?”

Sojiro snorts. “Don’t get too cocky. Might still consider kickin’ you out. Same rules as when you were a teen, kid. You work here and if I catch you slackin’ off or stopping to look for a permanent place I’ll give you the boot.”

Which he had never done before. Old softie. “So no orgies?” he asks with a pout.

Sojiro tosses a towel at his face. “Who raised you like that? Don’t answer that.”

Akira chuckles, taking up the towel and getting up from his seat. He joins Sojiro’s trail along the counter, working alongside him in soothing familiarity. “It really is getting real now,” he says quietly.

“You don’t sound too happy.”

“Is anyone ever happy about this kinda stuff?” 

Sojiro makes a gruff, noncommittal noise. They work in silence for a while, until voice heavy, he asks: “Kid. You sure about this?”

The question is so genuine it takes Akira aback. “It’s - the one thing we can do. To save … whatever is left.”

“I didn’t ask you to quote a textbook answer,” Sojiro scoffs. 

He wrings the wipe in the sink and dries his hands at a towel. Akira keeps up his work in slow hypnotic circles. He’s reminded of that first talk, ages back it seems, without quite as many nicks in the counter. Back when Sojiro had offered awkward support because he had suspected there may be  _ feelings  _ for a certain detective. 

And he’d  _ support  _ Akira, just  _ if  _ that were the case, and times were  _ changing,  _ and so on. It had been so awkward. 

It had also been the day Akira realised blood did not make a family. 

“I’m not sure at all.” It’s a quiet thing, as if the weight of that truth needs to be handled with care, lest it slip away from him with too much force, and cause a mess. “But I think … he needs this. And things are happening now. The helpers are hired, the contracts are signed. It’s happening either way. If I argued against it now it’d just mess everything up. We found some peace.” He doesn’t want to say the next words, but they’re stuck in his throat like shards, and it’s  _ Sojiro,  _ god damn. So Akira spits it out, blood and all. “I’m just tired of hurting someone I love.”

“Love, huh,” Sojiro muses very quietly. 

Akira stiffens. “Well - not like that anymore. It’s a broad term. I’m mad at him, but I don’t hate him. And like isn’t enough …”

“Alright, alright.” Sojiro chuckles. “Don’t pop a blood vessel while wiping the counter. It’d make a mess.” 

“You’d just resurrect me and make me clean it up myself.”

“Damn right.”   
They settle back into comfortable silence again, though Akira braces for the words Sojiro is so obviously gathering from the air. 

“All I’m saying is,” Sojiro says gruffly, opening the fridge for what Akira suspects is nothing but the need to have something to do with his hands, “That what you  _ should  _ do and what you  _ wanna  _ do are always two different things when it comes to matters of the heart.”

He sounds wistful now, voice too soft, but Akira appreciates the honesty. “You never know what might happen. There are some regrets you’ll carry with you for life.”

Akira swallows hard at that, unmoving. Just staring down at the towel bunched in his hand, and the gleaming counter. 

But it’s different, isn’t it? What happened to Sojiro - and this. Akira tried, he tossed himself in head first, and it worked out, but only for a time. They burned bright and fast, and perhaps even longer than anticipated. But they were always bound to break.

Right?

Sojiro slams the fridge shut. “God damn it. I’m done with this, it’s time for what we really need.”

“Curry?” Akira asks, tossing the towel over his shoulder.

Sojiro smacks two glasses down on the counter. “Whiskey. Sounds like both of us can use it.”

 

\---

 

“I can’t believe you got drunk with Sojiro and I  _ missed  _ it,” Futaba grumbles, as Akira squints into her bright-eyed face and wishes she’d be more quiet and maybe slow down. “What did you guys talk about?! Do I wanna know?! Was it gross?! Was it Akechi?!”

Akira reaches out, settles a hand on her head, and lets it rest there for two seconds before he shoves her face down into the mattress. She splutters and protests and next thing he knows she grabbed his blanket and yanked. 

“When did you get quick enough to startle me like this?” he asks, pouting, curling up as if that could save the warmth.

“My skills far outnumber yours now!” she declares, clutching the blanket to her chest like a, like a  _ blanket thief. _ “Plus, being inebriated totally cost you some proficiency points!” 

Ah yes, the point system. Futaba came up with it ages ago, always quick to afford and detract points from Akira’s imaginary skill star. He’s honestly forgotten where his proficiency was last. It’s fine. As long as he has all his charm points. 

Anyways, he’s really fucking tired, and not in the mood to get into last night’s whiskey-fuelled talk of heartbreak and adulthood and everything in between. It’s a good memory, though not one without some pain on both sides. 

What happens in LeBlanc stays in LeBlanc.

“Akiraaaaa!”

He grunts. “What?”

“Your phone! It’s been buzzing for ages!”

Sleepily, messed up, he holds it up to his ear wrong side up, then realises he has to hit the little green button, and then holds it up to his face properly. “Mmmh?”

“My god, are you wasted? Did you get wasted on the day we agreed to take care of the cellar?”

It’s too early in the morning for so much venom. “What? I’m totally sober and awake. I’m gonna be there in a second.”

Futaba stares at him with all the scathing disbelief and judgement of a little sister. 

Akira hangs up as he hears Goro inhale for  _ words  _ and looks at Futaba. “I need a shower, painkillers, and a toothbrush, stat. Did you get your wife?”

That mellows Futaba out completely. “I did!” she replies, her grin wide and infectious. “She’s sooo pretty and - oh, right, okay, okay, painkillers. I’ll get you some but only because I’m the best sister  _ ever _ !”

 

\---

 

Akira likes to think he  _ did  _ clean up well when he rolls up on his own doorstep like a stranger. 

He tries to imagine it, for a moment, seeing the chipped paint on the wood. A different couple moving in here, being happier than them or ending up just as miserable

Ha, yeah. His mood is brilliant this morning.

So is Goro’s when Akira slips off his shoes and catches a glimpse of him across the room, perched out in front of the bookshelf like he’s willing to simply burn it down and spare them the effort. 

“Hey,” Akira says, proud that his voice sounds pretty smooth thanks to emergency coffee. He’s also rather awake.

“I see you are extending the honour of your visit after all,” Goro replies, all ice prince. Akira should honestly be able to iceskate across the living room floor. Someone’s meeting didn’t work out last night, huh? 

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” he says, a lot more snappy than he thought it’d be. Oops. 

“And where is Mona?” Goro’s eyes dart to the obviously missing bag. 

“Left him with Futaba.”

“Seriously?” Goro’s voice is sharp as glass shards, and his eyes are flashing in a way that takes Akira entirely aback. “I mean, I got what left, some week or two with him? And you just leave him at LeBlanc?!”

“I -” Akira hadn’t considered that. He’d just rushed out and would have felt bad yanking Mona from sleep and stuff him into his bag. Fuck. He also hadn’t thought Goro would look so hurt over it. “I’ll get him later.”

“Just get over here and help me sort through the books. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Didn’t sound like it doesn’t matter,” Akira mutters under his breath, but, hell. He joins Goro in the widest distance possible to sit in tense silence, drag over a box, and start pulling books out of the shelf.

It feels weird. Like cutting the vein of a heart, to be overly dramatic. It’s the middle point of their apartment, loaded with history, from the shelf down to every battered novel. The textbooks from their university days. Why’d they never throw those out?

And in between Akira finds pamphlets for concerts and self-help groups and coupons for 20% off pet food. 

He discards all that stuff with a heavy heart, and tries not to look over at Goro, at what he is finding, what he is doing. They don’t speak unless they need to clarify what belongs to whom.

As if yesterday had never happened. How strange, to have felt such an ache, and end up like this, in the end. 

Maybe they will always end up tense and uncomfortable together. Or maybe it’s just the mood.

The day is a miserable one only interrupted by sorting and occasional dusting. It really feels emptier without Mona to break the tension and Akira still feels guilty, because in a way Goro is right. He is robbing him of some last time with Mona.

Maybe Futaba can save him from this mess. Give him an excuse to come over, bring Mona back, and let him play buffer between them, and then maybe Goro will be less salty. 

 

Akira: yo

Akira: futaba

Futaba: no >:|

Akira: no?

Akira: you dont even know what i

Futaba: No.

Akira: woah punctuation city

Futaba: answering texts machine broke

Akira: did he bribe you

Akira: did he know i was gonna

Akira: how much

Akira: how much for my own sister to sell me out

Futaba: an unlimited pull until i can max out my wife

Futaba: whats better than one wife?

Akira: family to rely on

Futaba: two wives!!!!!!!

Akira: cant believe this

Futaba: you SHOULD really get this over with

Akira: this household is falling apart without mona

Futaba: ill tell him!!! :)

Futaba: do your best big bro!!!

Futaba: oh and

Futaba: [image attached]

Futaba: isnt she pretty??

Akira: was she really worth the backstab

Futaba: DUH

 

“Anything particularly interesting on your phone that keeps you from helping with the task we have both dreaded and would rather get over with?” Goro asks, voice saccharine. 

To think he fished out his wallet to buy Futaba. Akira’s own family. 

“Just checking the weather.”

Goro looks outside, frowning. “The sky is clear.”

“Coulda sworn it looked like rainclouds,” Akira mumbles. 

If looks could kill. But they can’t, so merrily, Akira goes about his life packing. 

The worst part are the pictures, honestly. They keep falling out of dusty notebooks, bookmarking thrillers abandoned halfway because they’d figured out the murderer, or trapped between thick volumes of encyclopedias Goro swears he needs and Akira has not seen him touch once these past  _ years.  _

It’s like tumbling through soap bubbles, watching them shimmer and pop. 

A blurry selfie of them laughing, half the picture sky because it had been taken with an actual camera, which hadn’t survived the sand of the beach. 

Mona when he was young, a tiny ball of abandoned fur ferociously and proudly glaring into the camera. 

Akira slips that one aside to keep, and unsure what to do with the selfie, he puts it back into the book it slipped from. “How did we ever collect so much stuff?” he asks out loud, his voice disturbing the oppressive silence like roaring laughter would a church.

“Funny how you ask that considering I am sorting through Mara’s Fantasies Volume One to Fourteen.”

“It’s cultured literature.”

Goro flips a page open and takes in its content with raised brows before snapping it shut. “I am sure it touches deeply.”

That makes Akira guwaff an unexpected laugh, and even though Goro tries to hide it with all his might, Akira  _ sees  _ he is pleased with it. Suddenly, it’s a little easier to breathe. 

“At least it doesn’t take up as much space as your encyclopedias. This one’s on  _ math. _ ”

“I have many interests.”

“I once witnessed you cuss out a calculator.”

“That was personal,” Goro replies with dignity. 

The corners of Akira’s mouth twitch in response. “I see.”

They settle back into silence, with a little more vigour, occasionally checking back on certain volumes, or whether some things can be tossed out. Akira refuses to surrender his aged but somewhat prized collection of deep literature, and Goro holds onto his math encyclopedia. 

And that is that. 

Then, from a dusty notebook with a worn leather binding hidden behind the last encyclopedia slips a small piece of paper once more. This one is littered in names, written in Goro’s neat curl. 

Akira wonders if they were for Mona, perhaps. Or another cat, though Mona would have never accepted sharing their attention. 

But the last one is the name of Goro’s mother, and with a strange lurch, Akira wonders if it was a different wish altogether.

There is no date on the piece of paper. Perhaps it had only been a teenage fantasy. Goro had never even …

It must have been a list for Mona. 

Akira flips the notebook open to tuck it back between its pages - halting on a page covered in messy scrawl, with a cinema stub taped to it, and a strip of photo booth images on the other. They had been so young, so round-faced and naive.

It hurts. 

“I think this is yours,” Akira whispers, and Goro makes a small noise as he sees the book and pretty much tears it from him, fast enough to make the name list flutter from it again before he snaps it shut.

“That is personal!” 

“Sorry. I …” Akira offers the list, feeling strangely numb. 

Goro yanks that from him, too, with enough force to tear the paper’s edge a little, and somehow, Akira feels that small fracture. This tightness in Goro’s voice, this distress - as if Akira is a stranger.

It’s just like back when they had started dating, still forced to learn how to open up to each other. When it had taken months to inch past Goro’s walls, and then years to tear them all down, and make sure to find ways to detect and circumvent the new ones popping up. 

Now Akira finds he’s been locked out of the core, just staring at walls after all. 

When did that happen?

“That belongs in a different box,” Goro says stiffly and pushes to his feet, maneuvering around the stacks of books and ever-growing pile of boxes around them. He disappears into the bedroom, and Akira stares at the gaping holes left in the rapidly emptying shelf, the patterns of the books left in the dust that had settled between.

He draws a frowning smiley and a kitten into the dust like an adult, wipes his hand on his pants, and heads into the kitchen to at least get a drink. 

Fighting a hangover with more alcohol. Brilliant plan. 

Just to spite Goro he pours wine into a coffee mug and puts it on the ground next to him, sipping as he finishes up this shelf and moves onto the one above it. But the pile for Goro to sort through grows ever higher, and the wine gets sipped all the way.

In the end, Akira dusts off his hands and pushes to his feet, too. If Goro fell asleep, he gets to take an embarrassing picture, and if he’s slacking off at least Akira can get revenge for earlier and chide right back.

But what he finds when he knocks and inches the bedroom door open is just Goro sitting on the bed, shoulders stiff, snapping the red notebook shut. Ah. So even the ace detective gets distracted by memories. 

“Fun time reading?” Akira asks, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. Goro doesn’t respond, which screams guilty, but then he stays quiet so long that Akira feels a tug of worry. He takes a step onwards, and all he hears is Goro’s stiff, warbled voice: “Don’t.”

He’s crying.

How long?

How long had he been sitting here and - ?

“Goro,” Akira says, feeling terrible to the bone because the bookshelf is littered in holes and here is Goro who -

“ _ Don’t, _ ” he hisses, but Akira can’t just leave. He  _ can’t.  _

Akira understands this pain so much and damn it all, they’re the only ones who can  _ get  _ what they’re going through and maybe extend some comfort. 

Or maybe he’s just tired of feeling useless and seeing Goro hurt again. So he walks into the room that used to be theirs.

Goro’s face is blotchy. He’s always been a terribly ugly crier, and it breaks Akira’s heart to see him like this again, the worn book in his lap, looking so lost on the edge of a bed too big for him alone. 

This is an emergency, isn’t it? 

Akira reaches out of for his shoulder, and Goro hisses, fists clenched, tremors running through his body. “ _ Don’t - _ ” 

It does hurt. All of this hurts like a  _ bitch _ and all Akira wants to do is sleep. Or maybe go sit down in a room and cry. But he goes to grab tissues instead and gives those to him, and Goro wipes roughly at his eyes and blows his nose. 

The look in his eyes is that of steel already melted by despair, and yet Goro is trying so hard not to crumble in front of Akira. 

A soft gesture will break him, but that’ll be better than bottling all of it up.

So this time, he firmly plants his hand on Goro’s shoulder blade, feels the tension beneath. “Hey,” he says quietly. Because he  _ cares.  _ Oh, how Akira cares. “It’ll be fine, you know.” Maybe he wants to hear it, too.

Maybe Akira needs to hear this the most.

“Take your hand away or it’ll be your fault,” Goro growls, voice guttural. He is positively shaking now, and Akira is so taken he hesitates a second too long.

And so it’s Goro snapping.

With a growl, he  _ lunges.  _

He attacks Akira, hands greedy to tug and push and pull, yanking him over, fingers finding hair and clothes. Akira gasps and finds his cheek pressed against the mattress, legs dangling off the edge still as Goro roughly tilts his head to the ceiling.

His face above Akira is all rage, the kind of face one wears before throwing a punch that will shatter a nose. He’s shaking violently.

Akira’s eyes squeeze shut and he jerks in pain beneath Goro.

But it’s not a fist.

It’s teeth catching on his lip, drawing blood. Goro’s mouth crashing against his, tongue slipping past Akira’s surprise-slack lips. It is a pained noise turning into startled, throaty groan of pleasure.

Rational thought surrenders to Goro’s hands holding onto him like he never wishes to let go, and Akira reaching up in kind, holding on, holding on, holding on to Goro’s shaking body. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna lay in your arms when the world is burning / I wanna dig in your heart, take away your hurting / Kiss me and tell me I'm fine and forget we’re dying


	5. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are too many words left unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by: chocolate, tears, and sad accoustic songs.

He struggles for breath, Goro’s presence smothering him.

He’s all despair and demand, restless. Shaking still.

Akira lets go of him to cup his cheeks instead, hot to the touch and wet with tears. Carefully he brushes them away, his touch gentle while his lips still taste of blood. “Goro,” he whispers, only to be kissed again, hard, to silence him. “Goro,” over and over, and every time he is shut up, pressed harder into the mattress. Goro shifts to straddle him and makes Akira gasp, stealing the sound from his lips.

It’s angry and desperate and Goro’s emotions bleed through to Akira, make his skin crawl with tension begging to be released. There’s no second to catch his breath, Goro’s touch bestowed like an assault, hard and merciless.

All Akira can do is take the blows, fingers burying in Goro’s hair, smoothing along his scalp. Licking into his mouth and breathing in the tempo and fervour, exhaling slow and gentle care through all he does.

He lifts himself up, against the way Goro seems to try and keep him down, immobile.

With a grunt, Goro grants him that, digging his fingers painfully into Akira’s back and yanking him into a sitting position. Akira strains into the touch, sliding almost into Goro’s lap, hands settling on his waist, squeezing as he leans in for another kiss, slow and deep. Just to make Goro groan, breathy, affected.

It’s a strange kind of triumph Akira feels. _Yes, see? I still know how to make you feel good. Even if we fuck it all else up I know how to make you sing._

Or how to make him stop trembling. Akira slows the kiss even more, lets it sizzle out into something tender. At first, Goro fights it, tries to amp up the tempo and heat all the more, with an angry noise at the back of his throat.

But Akira brushes his fingers along the sharp curve of Goro’s jaw, behind his ear, making Goro’s breath hitch. He fits his whole palm along Goro’s cheek, tilts his head and kisses him ever softer still.

With a broken, fragile noise Goro caves, the grip of his fingers loosening. He no longer tears at Akira but holds onto him, and Akira’s heart feels soft, overwhelmed with fondness as he slowly reaches up and wipes the last of the tears from Goro’s cheeks. Pulls back to peck his lips, softly, again and again.

“Goro,” he sighs, inching closer.

It’s the wine, maybe. A single glass surely isn’t enough, but it sure is a nicer explanation than acknowledging that it’s the goodbye, it’s the ending, and this - this makes it feel less like one.

Akira doesn’t want to stop kissing him. He doesn’t want to stop _here,_ he doesn’t want quick and dirty.

He wants to hold Goro in his arms and come undone, wants to pretend they’re not falling apart, just moving, maybe. Isn’t that a nice thought? Sorting things out, maybe finding a bigger flat, because this one is alright for a couple and a cat, but not for -

Oh.

Akira freezes, completely. His heart stutters, picks up pace, and strange laughter bubbles up in his throat. The pain is hot and imminent, and he can’t - he can’t -

Goro touches his cheek, the touch of his bare skin startling. He must have taken off his gloves; it is enough to bring Akira back into the moment.

He forces down whatever he is feeling, because it makes no sense for it to hit him _right now._

“Don’t chicken out now,” Goro demands, his voice harsh, but his touch unbearably soft still, trailing beneath Akira’s eye. Akira makes the mistake of lifting his gaze, looking at the confused but dedicated concentration with which his ex caresses him, and realises with startling clarity that he is madly and foolishly in love with Akechi Goro.

Beneath the fighting, the hurt. Beneath the resolve to let his feelings cool down to nothing but a stable, platonic relationship - his heart is beating and breaking with yearning.

This is what he lost - what he is losing still. This flat stuffed with shared history, the days after work where he’d slump over Goro and listen to him read, Mona joining them on the pile. He’d never comfort Goro after a nightmare again, staying awake long after his breathing had evened, chest swelling with the need to watch over him. As if a watchful gaze could wipe away the past that keeps haunting him.

He won’t know for sure whether Goro has already found grey hairs like Akira was _certain_ he had, or whether that was still ahead and he’d get to tease him about it.

Why’s it all hitting him right this moment?

Fate and such, the one true love, Akira has never believed in it. He knows along the way he will fall in love again, but will fights resolve unspoken like theirs do? Akira learning a new recipe that Goro posted on instagram after eating out, and knowing he is forgiven with a benevolent laugh at a stupid joke, sometimes just with the click of Goro’s chopsticks and that first blossoming smile of his.

In turn Goro would do taxes and write the work mails Akira hated to formulate, or he’d attempt to repair the crooked cupboard door, getting all huffy and puffy and embarrassed when Akira fixed what he’d done, and then they’d make out right beneath the mess anyways.

Right now, thinking about sharing his life with another down the line, everything in Akira revolts against the idea of learning the love language, the habits and weak spots of someone who isn’t this brilliant, sharp-edged, fragile, ridiculous person right in front of him.

Who would spend an hour to take a no-filter just-woke-up selfie completely unashamed like he does? Only Goro. Only goddamn Akechi Goro.

And it’s over.

This. Wandering hands, flushed lips, blown pupils. Akira will never win the debate of sorting their bookshelf by colour instead of alphabetical, and he will never win the fight for putting climbing holds up above their bed to turn their bedroom into bouldering paradise. They have a bet running on that.

Akira thought he was ready to move on, but he is not, he is not, and that is _terrifying._

It leaves him helpless, directionless, and so he follows Goro.

Kisses him back and arches into his touches and tries not to think, only to feel. Not to panic, only to breathe, only to breathe.

_It’s all fine, it’s all for the better._

Goro kisses him, hands sliding beneath Akira’s shirt. It’s yesterday’s rumpled one, easily discarded, and it’s so easy to reply in kind, unbutton Goro’s dress shirt and slip it from his shoulders.

Goro leans in, leaving a harsh, burning trail of kisses along his collarbone, up to where his neck meets his shoulders, and then he bites him and the pain numbs Akira’s thoughts. Mostly, mostly.

_It’s just a fear of goodbye, honestly, anyone would feel that way. It’ll pass._

Lust is so simple, enough to set his grief ablaze, and Akira presses back into Goro’s  soothing kisses along the bitemark.

So what if his heart is breaking and Goro is both the dagger and the salve, so what if this is all a huge mistake? Right now all he needs to do is rut into Goro’s palm and urge him where Akira needs him.

The only thing they need to do is crush their lips together and rob each other’s breath, drink in each other’s noises, and get out of their pants.

It’s so good and so terrible at once, and Akira feels like laughing again, or maybe he feels like crying. He hasn’t, not once, all this time.

Not a single time has he cried for what he’s lost. What he’s still losing.

Goro presses his palm between Akira’s legs and their teeth click together when Akira strains into the caress, needy and desperate.

“I should deny you,” Goro growls, but he leans back into the kiss and his lips are soft, no trace of the viciousness from their first kiss. Akira closes his eyes, not willing to move, not willing to make a noise. The balance is fragile and all his feelings are too close to the surface, bubbling just beneath his skin, and if Goro would just press hard enough surely his nimble fingers would feel it branded into Akira’s skin, read his turmoil effortlessly.

“But you won’t,” he breathes, and Goro yanks open the drawer, and Akira feels cold where Goro had been touching him.

He’s hard, leaking, in fact. No matter how heartbroken, it seems his dick is still ready to have a good time. Akira strokes himself as he waits, trying not to think. Only concentrate on the sensation, on the - process.

“Impatient,” Goro breathes, settling above him. “Don’t think I’ll show mercy if you get off before I do.”

“Wouldn’t expect it,” Akira manages to rasp, but he reaches up, languidly curls his fingers around Goro instead. The breath hisses from him, shuddering. His eyes fall closed and Akira can look at him without hiding his emotion, see how affected and vulnerable and honest Goro is like this.

Then his brow twitches, pain etching into his features, and he frowns as he swats at Akira’s hand. “No touching.”

The words slice so deep that Akira is knocked completely breathless. He just lies there, hands at his sides, slick from himself and feeling guilty and terrible and lost. “But you get to touch me.”

“It’s what I want.” Goro looks pointedly down at his crotch. “Isn’t it what you want?”

Akira licks his lips. It’d be so easy to say no, to put an end to this.

To get out of this heart squashed, not shattered.

But he can’t face it yet, he can’t nurse his broken heart yet. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispers instead.

A slow, carnivorous grin curls Goro’s lips, and he pushes Akira down into the cushions with one palm splayed on his chest, upon him in an instant. He hovers above Akira, expression feverish, searching, and then the tip of his finger presses against Akira and into him, fast and rough.

Crying out, Akira knocks his head hard into the pillow, hips quivering. The burn of it is intoxicating and he gasps for breath, palms on Goro’s shoulder to steady himself. Breathing, adjusting to this new pace, quick and dirty after all.

Strands of Goro’s hair have fallen from his ponytail and brush Akira’s cheeks, and his eyes are alight with emotion. True, honest emotion.

As if in a trance, Akira reaches up and cups his cheeks. He tilts his head and kisses him, deep and hungry and slow and he feels himself tear up even as he braces his legs on the mattress to rock against Goro’s finger When Goro pulls away, Akira holds on, keeps kissing him. Anything to keep Goro from seeing his state, from risking that he would stop now and leave Akira on his own.

Goro presses another finger into him and Akira moans shamelessly as he offers himself, rocks down on them no matter how it burns. He’s greedy and he’s desperate and he loves Goro. Madly, foolishly, still. The feelings are tangled in him so deep, inescapable, and no amount of time could snare his heart. He could move on, forget, learn to love someone new. But Akira would never learn not to love Akechi Goro and cradling his face in his hands knowing he will have to or lose him forever, it kills him. It's killing him.  
Akira reaches up and wraps both arms around Goro, pulling him on top of him. With a soft 'oof' Goro goes down, his weight making it easier to breathe, making it impossible for him to read Akira like an open book.  
"You almost broke my fingers," Goro grunts.  
"Sorry."  
"Are you okay?" Goro asks.  
No, he isn't. He is not. "Don't stop," Akira replies, managing not to let his voice shake.  
"Are you sure?"  
“ _Yes.”_  
Goro pushes himself up a little, but Akira still holds onto his upper body, face pressed into his skin. He surrendered himself to the sensation of Goro working him open and finally let's go, turning onto his stomach, propping himself up on a pillow.  
"Like this?" Goro asks, and Akira jumps at the touch of his fingertips trailing like a whisper along his spine.   
"Yes."   
It’s cowardly, perhaps. Or maybe just masochistic. But Akira just lets his body take the reins, allows Goro to be the conductor of a symphony, playing him, soothing him. He scatters marks across Akira’s back still, and he works him open until Akira, guttural, demands he get on it, push inside him, _fuck him properly._

Rough and fast and dirty sounds like a great idea about now. He just wants to forget.

But maybe this is his punishment, Goro suddenly taking his time. After all that posturing about getting him prepared so _rudely_ , Goro sinks into him so slowly. Leaves Akira gasping and curling his fingers into the sheets, leaves him enough room to think: _I’ll never feel this again._

They breathe in synch and Akira gulps for breath, his eyes burning.

If he stayed here forever he would never have to find anything else on the damn bookshelf that would gut him. In this moment, he would never need to leave this place with its stains and mishaps and crooked kitchen cabinet that Goro had made worse and Akira hadn’t fixed entirely and Goro had made worse again.

Goro kisses his shoulder blade, and Akira wants to scream. The terrible tension only leaves him when Goro finally bites down, but then he soothes that with kisses, too.

“Just move,” Akira barks, demands, his voice hard and relentless even when he’s still close to tears. Which of them is the great actor now?

He’s going mad with loss, dizzy from how fast things are going now, how far he let it go before he realised -

Goro relieves him by finally, finally complying _._ He starts slow, soft, but even the slight rock of his hips lures soft moans from Akira. The edges of his thoughts searing papercuts deeper into his heart go up in flame, the friction of Goro rocking into him their ember, leaving only smoke for Akira to choke on. But it’s fine, it’s fine.

Goro is close, his skin warm. That is enough. Akira feels every moan of his, and he can’t help but meet him, rock back into him, because it isn’t enough - Goro’s cock all the way inside him isn’t _close_ enough when Akira knows that when it’s over they’ll never -

“Harder,” he demands.

Not a single thought more, oh gods, not yet, not yet -

A moan so forceful it makes his throat ache is torn from him when Goro indulges him viciously, gripping his hips hard. “Making demands?” he bites out.

“You know it, honey,” Akira gasps and moans again when Goro thrusts right at his weak spot to shut him up. Damn him.

For once, bless him. Because finally it all dissolves, his heartache drowned beneath his thundering heart and burning muscles. Everything is the sweat clinging between his shoulder blades, their voices mingling, the obscene slap of their skin together.

Goro’s fingers will leave bruises on his hips he holds on so tight, and the pillow is damp from Akira’s panted breaths. As he clings to the pillow until his knuckles go white, his body rocked along the mattress, at once Akira craves and fears release.

But he has no say in the matter, in the end.

The friction is perfect, this is perfect, and Goro is merciless.

When Akira comes he shakes and shivers and sees stars because it’s _so good,_ but -

Goro’s thrusts stutter, erratic, and keening he spills inside Akira, hips jerking through it and then slowing, slowing. His grip on Akira’s hips eases, but doesn’t slide away, and for now, they are still connected.

“Fuck.” He bends, as if in prayer, his damp forehead pressed between Akira’s shoulders. His next words are a breath against Akira’s back: “ _Fuck_.”

Akira smiles an empty grimace into the pillow. His heart is racing, body humming with satisfaction even when his chest feels like a gaping wound has been torn there. Would it be so hard to ask?

To just spit it out?

_Don’t go?_

_I don’t want this?_

_I realised I’d rather struggle to make things work than lose you?_

_Why did we agree to this? When did we decide it made sense? How does any of this make sense?_

“Goro,” he manages, his voice catching, and feels Goro tense.

“... Akira,” he says, carefully, like the name may hold the power to blow up in his face if he only jostled it hard enough by accident.

Perhaps that’s exactly what would happen.

“Did you want kids?”

Akira doesn’t know why it’s those words that slip from him, in his limp haze. All he wants to do is twist and hold onto Goro, feel his warmth. Be pressed together naked, without secrets between them, without lust and desire. To breathe and talk, to - to make this work, god _damn_ it, if there is any love left, if there is enough left to feel this way, shouldn’t that be enough?!

Shouldn’t that matter _somehow?!_

Goro makes a strange noise, and next thing Akira knows, a noise slips from him when Goro pulls out abruptly and lets go of him entirely. Wincing, Akira shifts, trusting his expression enough to at least glimpse at Goro, who has turned his back to him resolutely. “Don’t be stupid,” he says, his voice suddenly chilled. He barks a humourless laugh. “Me? _Us_?”

Akira pushes himself up, sitting now. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his hazed mind struggling to keep up. He wishes he wouldn’t have this talk with come drizzling from him, but this is where his terrible decisions led him. “What do you mean by that? We kept Mona happy and alive.”

“He’s a _cat,_ Akira!”

“He’s alive.” Goro is quiet, but his fists are clenched. Softly, Akira rephrases: “Why don’t you want kids anymore?”

“It’s none of your business now, is it?!” Goro hisses. His bared shoulders are bunched and tight with tension, and Akira reaches out faster than he can think, placing his palm there again, trying to ease it. To bridge this distance. To _understand._ There’s a crucial part he’s been missing, been missing for _so long,_ and now it might be too late to ever figure it out if he doesn’t -

“Don’t _touch me -_!” Goro flinches from him as if he had been burned, whirling on the spot, glaring. “How many more times must I -”

“So stop touching _me_ then! Do you know how it feels, to -” Akira breaks off, struggling for the words. “Without explanation. What have I done to deserve this?! How come you get to fuck me and blow me but I can’t fucking try to _comfort_ you -”

“It’s none of your business!” Goro’s voice rises and breaks, and he begins pacing, seeking his clothes to yank them back on. “You aren’t my boyfriend anymore! You’re too much of an asshole to be my friend! You are _nothing_ to me!”

Akira laughs, hollow. What perfect timing, to realise he still loves Goro and realise at the same moment that Goro is already finished with them. Of course, he wanted the breakup. Akira should have realised. “Good enough for a quick fuck though, aren’t I?”

“Oh, you’ve always been good enough for that,” Goro shoots back, cruelty sharpening his voice to a deadly blade. “I’ll miss it, really. It’s too bad pretty bodies like yours come with such shitty personalities -”

“Good thing you broke up with me then. Hope you enjoyed your last time.” It’s strange. Akira used to fuck strangers in bars, he used to fuck on dirty toilets, car backseats, around corners in public. But none of that has ever made him feel as dirty as this. Baring himself to Goro, to the man he loved, and realising that it was nothing but a physical exercise when it shook him apart.

Great. Fucking great. Akira pushes his hair out of his face. “You know what’s funny? I could’ve sworn that I - ah, nevermind. I got hung up on memories, but thanks for showing your true face again. I’d almost forgotten how ugly you can be.”

Goro pulls on his shirt and he looks ready to tear something apart. “I hate you. I fucking _hate_ you. You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me, Akira.”

He’d also almost forgotten how good Goro is at pulling the trigger on a killing blow. “You know?” Akira says, because he’s tired and he’s not going to lower himself to that level. “I hate what’s happening right now, but at least I can still admit that you were good for me, once. And I thought we’d always be together. Guess that was a stupid notion.”

“Then be glad to be rid of me,” Goro snarls, and rushes from the room, and Akira just remains quietly, unmoving for a moment.

What just happened?

What on earth just happened to them?

Where’s the man who whispered that he didn’t want to lose Akira?

Akira buries his face in his hands until he feels like he needs to scream. Then he takes up his phone and lets it ring until he reaches Ann. He can’t stay here a second longer.

“Akira?”

“I need a bed. Please.”

“Hell, I’ll even toss in some food,” Ann tries to joke, but she picked up on his mood. “When will you be here?”

“Gonna get going in five minutes. Faster if I can help it.”

“Spare key is under the plant, but not the fake one, the real one.”

Just hearing Ann’s voice is a comfort. “Someday you’ll get robbed. That’s so not secure.”

“You’re only stealing my coffee anyways,” Ann replies, and he can practically _hear_ her shrug. “And my insurance is good.”

She’s terrible. Akira loves her. “See you after work.”

“Yeah, see you then. I’ll text you about what food to order tonight.”

Akira takes a deep, steadying breath. He just needs to clean up roughly, shove some shit in a bag, and go. Hell, he can borrow from Ann if he wants to. It’s been too long since he’s worn a skirt anyways. He can shower at her place, too. And maybe sleep forever.“Something greasy,” he says, not bothering to hide his defeat from his voice.

“Thought was a given!” Ann exclaims, and adds, with feeling: “Hang in there, Akira. It’ll all be over soon.”

If only he could believe that this ache would leave him alone anytime soon, or all the words that had been flung his way.

When he leaves, there’s no sign of Goro anywhere, and Akira slams the door with vigour.

  
  


Maybe he wouldn’t have, had he _known._ But the thing is, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know anything.

Akira hides out at Ann’s for the whole weekend, refusing to speak about what happened until the day before the move.

“You really want to leave it like that?” Ann asks, gently swiping concealer beneath his eyes with her thumb. “You look wrecked. I don’t know when I last saw you like this. Whatever happened, I’m sure you can fix it somehow. At least so it’ll be easier.”

And she’s right. At least they can say words that aren’t insults as a goodbye. Maybe pick back up with the whole staying friends idea, even though Akira feels uncertain about that.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

Ann laughs at that, the sound of it soothing.

  
  


When he returns, feeling shaken but steady enough yet to face down Goro, he has gone through every possibility. The best one features Goro on his knees, begging Akira to take him back because he’s actually the _best_ thing that ever happened to him. The worst scenario is a gun against his head.

Realistically it’s probably somewhere in between the extremes, though Akira still roots hard for the former.

But when he opens the door what he finds is his own shit, and nothing else. The bookshelf is almost entirely raided, the only things left his own. Goro’s boxes are gone.

It’s so empty that Akira’s steps echo now.

He sits down in the middle of the empty room, in the quiet, and feels numb.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody said it was easy / No one ever said it would be so hard / Oh take me back to the start
> 
> Chapter five of eight! We are getting there and I cannot believe it.


End file.
